Death At Epsom Downs

Kate, with Charles and her maid Amelia Quibbley, took the morning Great Eastern train from Colchester east and north to Ipswich, then west through Bury St. Edmunds to Newmarket. There, they separated at the station, Charles being met by Bradford Marsden and walking off in one direction, Kate hailing a hansom and being driven off in another. It was after eleven when the cab pulled up in front of Regal Lodge and she got out, followed by Amelia, who waited while the driver took down the bags.

Mrs. Langtry had written of her house as a “small cottage,” but it was neither small nor very like a cottage, Kate thought, looking up at it. Regal Lodge was a substantial brick house, half-timbered in the second story, with a great many mullioned windows and numerous imposing gables and chimney pots, set behind wrought-iron gates off a quiet lane. Mrs. Langtry placed a premium on privacy-as well she might, for Charles had told Kate that when the Prince visited the racing stables at Egerton House, where his racehorses were trained, he visited Mrs. Langtry as well. His Highness was not in such oblivious thrall to the Honorable Mrs. Keppel that he had forsaken his old friend Lillie.

Kate rang the bell beside the iron-studded front door and was admitted by a courteous butler named Williams, who begged to inform her that Mrs. Langtry offered her most profound regrets, but that she was engaged with her advisers and could not be disturbed.

“If her ladyship would be pleased to be shown to her rooms,” he added, “the luncheon bell will ring shortly.”

The rooms-a spacious bedroom and dressing room; a private bath with a water closet and a bathtub which was connected to a small gas hot-water heater; and a sleeping closet for Amelia-were more than ample. The bedroom was luxuriously furnished in blue and silver draperies, bed coverings, and carpets, and there were bowls and vases filled with roses on every table. Amelia unpacked a champagne-colored dress of embroidered linen and helped Kate change into it.

“You look lovely, m’lady,” Amelia said, putting the finishing touches to Kate’s hair just as the luncheon bell rang.

“Thank you,” Kate said, smoothing her skirts. “If you don’t mind, Amelia, I’ll leave you to finish unpacking. And then you might go downstairs and join the staff at lunch.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Amelia answered equably, taking Kate’s leather jewelry box from the portmanteau. She gave Kate a sidelong glance. “Are there any special instructions, ma’am, especially as regards the servants?”

Kate smiled at the question. It was hard to keep secrets from one’s lady’s maid-and impossible to hide anything from Amelia Quibbley. The young woman-brown-haired and petite, with a pretty, open face-had been with her for several years, not just at Bishop’s Keep but also at Sibley House, the London residence where Charles and Kate stayed when Parliament was in session. The house was big as a castle and as unfriendly as a mausoleum, with a large, impersonal staff supervised by an impassive butler and a tyrant of a housekeeper. Kate relied on Amelia’s company and friendship and often used her as a liaison with the other, less amiable staff. Perhaps for this reason, perhaps for others, Amelia had developed an almost intuitive sense of what her mistress might require of her, as well as the ability to appraise an unfamiliar household.

Kate took the gold brooch that Amelia handed her. “I have two purposes in being here, Amelia. Mrs. Langtry has expressed an interest in staging one of my stories, and while the idea doesn’t greatly appeal to me, I plan to discuss it with her.” Looking at herself in the mirror, she pinned the brooch at her throat. “And Mrs. Langtry has agreed to be the subject of an article I’ve been asked to write for The Strand, and I would be glad of any insights into her true nature-the sort of insights servants sometimes share. I might not be able to use them in the article, but they would help me to better understand her character.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Amelia said demurely. “I’m sure people ’ud like to know wot she’s really like. When she’s not on the stage, that is.”

Kate met Amelia’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m sure they would,” she replied.

“Lady Charles!” Mrs. Langtry exclaimed, rising gracefully from a sofa in the drawing room. She was wearing an elaborate dress of sea-foam green watered silk with a bodice of pleated chiffon, cut low to show the full, soft whiteness of an alluring neck and shoulders, with a circlet of impressively large pearls clasped around her throat. She held out both her hands, and she and Kate traded the inevitable social kiss on both cheeks.

“So delighted that you are here at Regal Lodge!” Mrs. Langtry continued. “But I shan’t have any sort of ceremony. I insist that you call me Lillie, Kathryn.”

“Kate, please,” Kate said.

“I’ve played two Kates,” Lillie said firmly, “and you’re not a bit like either of them. If I can’t call you Kathryn, I shall call you Beryl.”

Lillie turned to gesture to two men, who were smoking and talking alongside what appeared to be a large tiled fish pond, sunk into the drawing-room floor. “Before you go, gentlemen, you must be introduced to my houseguest-the famous lady author. She’ll be writing an article about me for The Strand. Lady Charles Sheridan-also known as Beryl.”

As Lillie made introductions, Kate studied the two men. The elder was Captain Dick Doyle, whom Lillie presented as her racing manager, an enormous man in frock coat and waistcoat with a pale gray tie. He was round-cheeked and jovial, but there was a shrewd glint in his piggish eye. Kate felt herself being assessed and swiftly dismissed as being of no possible interest or utility. Lady authors were not, apparently, among the entities he managed.

The other man, slim and youthful in appearance, was natty in a checked tweed suit and red tie with a huge diamond tie tack. His name, Lillie said, was Todhunter Sloan.

“Tod is the brilliant American jockey who introduced short stirrups to England two years ago,” Lillie said, smiling at him playfully. “They all laughed at his style when he first began to ride in this country. A monkey up a stick, they called you, didn’t they, Toddie? But then he showed them how to win races, and they stopped laughing. And now they all try to copy you, don’t they, dear?”

Sloan grinned and tapped his cigarette into a delicate porcelain bowl that did not look in the least like an ashtray. “Damn right, Lil, m’love,” he drawled, in a broad Midwestern accent. “They all want to be just like me, don’cha know.” He snorted disdainfully. “Brit jockeys don’t have the sense the good Lord gave a goose. No idea how to run a race. Hang around at the start like it was a damned Sunday-school picnic and they was waitin’ fer somebody to pour the lemonade.” He threw back his head and guffawed, showing horsy looking yellow teeth.

“There’s nobody like you, Tod, old chap,” the fat man replied in an affably ingratiating tone. “You’re one of a kind.”

“You betch’er boots I am,” the jockey said boastfully. “Can’t nobody come near to Tod Sloan.”

“Except perhaps for the Reiff brothers,” Lillie remarked in an offhand tone, “who seem to be two of a kind.” The corners of her lips curled upward in a slight smile. “Johnny and Lester are doing quite well, wouldn’t you say, Toddie? Riding quite aggressively, scooping up the purses. I’m beginning to fear that these new American jockeys shall give us all a run for our money.”

Tod Sloan’s boyish cheeks grew red and his grin faded. “You don’t need to be afraid of anythin’, Lil. That last time out on Reliable, that was a fluke.” He thought for a moment, scowling; then his voice rose and his tone became belligerent. “Say, you ain’t tryin’ to tell me you don’t want me to ride for you no more, are you? ’Cause if that’s what you want, I c’n oblige you, for certain. I got plenty o’ offers. Why, Lord Beresford tells me that the Prince hisself wants me up. Think o’ that, Lil! The Prince hisself!”

Lillie gave a pretty little pout and put her hand on the jockey’s sleeve. “Of course I want you to keep on riding for me, you silly boy. It’s just that…” She glanced significantly at the captain.

The fat man stepped forward, moving as daintily as a girl. He placed his arm across the jockey’s slender shoulders. “I’m sure our lovely Lillie didn’t speak to offend, old chap. Just to remind you that we have competitors, and that she’s counting on you to bring home a winner, no matter what you might have to do to get it.” He raised both eyebrows and opened his eyes wide. “But that’s the business we’re in, isn’t it? We all need a challenge now and then, don’t we?”

The jockey’s “I s’pose” was sulky, but he brightened at Lillie’s smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“I know you’ll ride as hard as ever you can for me at Haydock Park on Saturday, dear Tod, and not let those other American jockeys push you around. I’m so sorry I won’t be able to see the race, but I’ll look forward to hearing that you and Reliable have taken a first.” She turned to Doyle. “I leave it to you, Captain, to suggest a winning strategy for the race. And of course, to see that my wagers are placed at the best odds, and that Tod has a handsome present for his work.”

While all this was going on, Kate had wandered over to gaze into the fish pond and discovered it stocked with large goldfish, some in quite striking colors. Standing off to one side, unobserved, she caught the captain’s surreptitious wink at Lillie. While she did not understand all that had been said, she felt quite sure that Lillie and the captain had been putting on a performance for the benefit of the jockey, who was so engrossed in himself that he failed to notice how he was being goaded into some sort of action by two people who were far more shrewd than he. In Kate’s opinion, Todhunter Sloan might be a brilliant jockey, but he was not a very bright man. And Lillie Langtry was extraordinarily skilled at all sorts of performances.

The men took their leave, the door to the dining room opened, and the ladies went in to luncheon, an elaborate affair that included a julienne soup, salmon cutlets, jellied chicken, a garnished tongue, green peas, almond pudding, and a fruit ice, each served in its turn by Williams the butler and a handsomely liveried footman.

“Now, my dear Beryl,” Lillie said confidingly, “while we eat, we shall have a great talk. You can ask me anything you want. There is no need to take notes just now, you can do that later. You are free to use everything I say in your magazine article-although I should like to read it before it is printed.” She tossed her head carelessly. “The press is such a useful tool, but one must exert some small control over it, don’t you agree?”

Afterward, Kate wondered that Lillie could have managed to eat a single bite, and there was certainly no opportunity for her to ask any questions. The actress talked incessantly, punctuating her conversation with practiced gestures and expressive glances from her smoky eyes, which seemed sometimes blue, sometimes gray. She described at great length the amazing success of her most recent theatrical tour of the United States; the fifty thousand pounds she had realized from the sale of her yacht, White Lady, a gift from an admirer named Baird who had died, tragically, before they could enjoy it together; the exploits of her favorite horse, Merman, which she loved above all other things on this earth; her new little house on the Isle of Jersey, which she called Merman Cottage and where Hugo de Bathe often visited her. As she talked, her tone became more confiding and her gestures and expression more intimate, as if she were telling everything about her life. Kate noticed, however, that she failed to mention two other sensational events which the London newspapers had reported extensively: her California divorce, obtained just two years before; and the mysterious death of her former husband, Mr. Edward Langtry.

At the mention of Hugo de Bathe, Lillie paused for a sip of wine and Kate seized the opportunity to speak. “I enjoyed meeting Lord de Bathe,” she said, pretending to more warmth than she felt. “He’s a charming man. He seems to care for you very much.”

“Oh, yes, doesn’t he?” Lillie agreed, smiling languidly over the rim of her glass. “Suggie is a dear, dear boy. I expect we shall be married before the end of summer.” She laughed dryly. “It won’t at all please his father, of course. The old man has threatened to cut Suggie off without a shilling if he marries me.” She added, with a cavalier shrug, “But money matters little to true lovers, don’t you agree? Love is certainly the most important thing in our lives. As my dear friend Oscar Wilde says, ‘They do not sin at all, who sin for love.’ ”

“But Oscar Wilde has also said,” Kate replied thoughtfully, “that ‘one should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry.’ ”

Lillie looked vexed. “Oscar is nothing if not inconsistent,” she said. She pushed away her empty dessert dish and fastened her eyes on her guest’s face. Her glance seemed to lay claim to Kate’s most precious secrets. “Now that I’ve told you everything there is to know about me, dear Beryl, you must tell me about yourself. I do so want to be friends.”

Kate opened her mouth to speak, but Lillie went on.

“I know that you’re an American, that your novels and stories are amazingly popular, and that you and Lord Sheridan don’t much like to go about in Society. But I’m sure there’s more-much more, hidden away inside your heart.”

“I’m afraid that you’ve already learned all there is to know about me,” Kate said with a small smile. “My life is an open book.”

Lillie threw back her head and laughed gaily. “An open book!” she exclaimed, much amused. “How very clever! But of course, it is your literary work that I most want to talk about. I can’t tell you how excited I am at the prospect of staging ‘The Duchess.’ I know the production will have an enormous dramatic appeal, especially if you agree to the few changes I have in mind. I’m absolutely dying to-”

But at that moment, Williams appeared with a folded note on a silver salver. Lillie read it with a displeased frown and threw it back on the tray, letting out an irritated puff of breath.

“It seems that I have an unexpected caller, Beryl, and after that, I fear I must attend to some business. You and I shall have to continue our conversation at tea.” The butler pulled back Lillie’s chair as she stood. “Meanwhile, I’m sure you would like to look at the house and grounds so that you can tell your readers all about Regal Lodge in your article. Please do ask Williams if you find yourself in need of anything.”

It was some little time later, while Kate was exploring the rose garden within earshot of the drawing-room windows, that she overheard Lillie Langtry’s angry interchange with her caller.